


Christmas in Helsinki

by Lucyemers



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Gordon Shappey is a terrible father, MJN Air Is A Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 21:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13221417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: “Ms. Knapp-Schappey?”“Yes?”“I’ve been sent to fetch you”, she responds, all smiles.“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you know what time it is?”She continues, ignoring her protests,“To Christmas in Helsinki.”





	Christmas in Helsinki

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mayseriouslyunusual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayseriouslyunusual/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy! Happy New Year!

**Carolyn**

Carolyn never did care much for Christmas. 

She flops down on the sofa, giving pats to Snoopadoop as she pants contentedly at her heels, full of doggy bliss after her late afternoon Christmas walk. The heating in the house is still not quite putting forth all the effort it really ought to after having been out of service for so long. Although, she remarks to herself, that it may just be Gordon’s recent presence that gives the air a nasty chill. 

She doesn’t understand why year after year Arthur still insists that his father make an appearance at their house for Christmas. There has been much negotiating over the years and she has finally gotten Arthur to agree to a drop in rather than insisting Gordon stay for Christmas dinner. This was a victory on her part that she only managed to achieve when she pointed out that Arthur hadn’t actually eaten much of his Christmas dinner in the many years of Gordon’s visit and Arthur had said, “Being around Dad is brilliant! But he does always make my stomach seem to go a bit wonky.” And that terrible blend of love and horrific nerves that Arthur was prone to when talking about his father had played across his face, making him go quiet and admit, “Dad’s probably got loads of better places to have dinner anyway.” 

After that things had marginally improved. But she still never manages to contain her anger with Gordon when he always arrives with not even a half-hearted attempt at a Christmas gift for his son. And she fears she exudes the irritation towards Arthur for the rest of the day (rather than Gordon, who, thankfully but infuriatingly, had left rather quickly.)

It’s this annual emotional battle of wills that makes her all the more willing to take bookings at Christmas. Their Christmas in Molokai had been one of the happiest she’d seen Arthur, all things considered. This year she manages to keep them in the air until late afternoon Christmas Day, but somehow Gordon still to sneaks into their bland, exhausted holiday when they return. Luckily his appearance is very brief as after only about half an hour Arthur checks his phone and announces that he has “somewhere to be.” Presumably, he is still out even after Carolyn returns from her frustrated walk. 

***

She’s settling in for a bowl of tinned soup and an evening of crap telly (and most definitely not worrying about her still absent son who is an adult and more than capable of taking care of himself) when she hears a knock at the door. She’s greeted by a tall, thin girl with a pixie cut, a little under bundled against the cold, looking at her in an almost absurdly business-like manner, but with the hint of a smile playing about her precisely made-up eyes.

“Ms. Knapp-Schappey?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been sent to fetch you”, she responds, all smiles.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Do you know what time it is?”

She continues, ignoring her protests,“To Christmas in Helsinki.” 

They both stand for a moment staring at each other before the girl straightens up a bit and very obviously closes one eye before losing her composure and giggling a bit. The she straightens up again and gives yet another theatrical wink. And all Carolyn can do is stare, impatient and freezing and dumbstruck. 

She says, a bit apologetically, “Look, I feel as stupid as I look, but hang on--.” She rummages in her purse and pulls out her phone shoving it over to Carolyn who takes the phone and reads on the notepad on the screen, _If they don’t get it, it might help if you wink. I can’t do this with one eye so I always have to do both, but if you can then, brilliant!_

“Oh, good lord.” She sighs. “Let me get my coat.”

**Martin**

Martin never did care much for Christmas. 

Well that wasn’t true as such. He cared very much for it when he was a child, he supposed, as all children do. These days there are van jobs to be done. Van jobs that follow immediately on the heels of long flights over Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. People pay a premium to have their stuff moved on the holiday when no other vans or moving companies were available. 

So he had been dragged along on a Christmas Eve flight and said yes to a very well paying van job. He’s exhausted and aching and wishing more than anything as he stares at the pot on the stove that’s strewn with the remnants of an end of term party that none of the students had even attempted cleaning up, that he could be in Wokingham pulling crackers and drinking eggnog and engaging in any number of silly Christmas traditions that he’s rolled his eyes through before. 

And then there is a knock at the door. 

The girl that greets him can’t be any older than the students. 

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas, I’m afraid”, he informs her, hoping she won’t be the first of many students who are planning on showing up in hopes of a party that had ended days ago. 

“Skipper?” she asks him, casting her eyes down a bit awkwardly. “Seriously does he really call you that?”

Martin baulks. “Excuse me?”

“I’m supposed to fetch you. If you are actually Skipper.”

“Fetch me? Fetch me where?”

“Christmas in Helsinki!” She says with a kind of forced jollity that quickly dissolves into an eye roll as she thrusts her hands into her coat pockets. “Look, please don’t make me wink again. Just a bit of Christmas fun having been arranged by a Mr. Arthur Milliner.”

There is a shout from the idling car in the driveway, “If I’m being dragged along on this ridiculous errand then so are you, Martin!” It sounds unmistakably Carolyn. 

“Your water’s boiling.” 

He rushes inside to turn off the oven and sets aside his lacklustre and unappetizing pasta, finding himself grinning almost gleefully as he leaves the dingy, dark flat behind.

**Douglas**

Douglas never did care much for Christmas. 

Well that isn’t strictly true, he reasons to himself. If he could have Christmas with either, preferably both, of his daughters he likes it just fine. Though even in that case he likes Christmas for the excuse it gives him to insist to his ex-wives that he really does deserve the time with Emily or Verity. He pleads the holiday, claiming to be terribly sentimental about it. And they always see right through him, but even they are not so hard-hearted as to refuse him his daughters’ company every year. 

There had been no winning that battle this year, however. Verity’s first year home from college that is being smugly funded by her new stepfather had been his ex-wife’s ace to play whenever she saw fit. “And besides”, Verity’s mother had gripped a bit petulantly, “she won’t even be with us the whole day. She’s got some terrible internship that has her working some event on Christmas Day.” The disappointment had seeped from her voice and she had abruptly shifted to her usual self saying, “But I really can’t complain too much there. She’s always been so responsible and ambitious in spite of...everything”, the nasty colouring she gave the last word, of course, meant to imply that Douglas was the “everything” that she spoke of. And so the fight he’d put up against Carolyn had been rather obligatory and half-hearted when she’d informed them of their Christmas flight plans.

He is just Googling his favourite sushi restaurant, hoping to be able to order some take out and finding them uncharacteristically closed when he hears a knock at the door. He’s been recently plagued with all manner of door-to-door evangelists and salespeople, and he’s on the verge of telling them to bugger off when he swings the door wide and sees Verity standing on his doorstep. 

He is what he is so very, very seldom: speechless. 

“Verity?” He recovers enough to pull her into a tight hug, worrying over how thin her coat is, remembering the sweltering day six months earlier when he’d moved her into her university dorm. “Darling, it’s freezing, come inside. I thought you had an event to work for your internship.”

“I do. As a matter of fact, I’ve no time to come in.”

He can feel his face falling. He has to hold back from demanding her mobile of her so that he can ring her boss and give him a good shouting for depriving him of his daughter on Christmas Day. 

But then she interrupts his thoughts and beats him to it saying, “I’ve got a message for you from my boss.” She pulls out her phone and reads, “Tell your Dad that Arth…” she trails off. “Yeah, I’ve really no clue how to say it. You’d better.” She thrusts the phone toward him and he reads:

_Tell your Dad that Arthnoldmanacatsaman, requests the presence of himself tonight at a special Christmas Day celebration._

“Verity...what on earth?”

“I really don’t have time to explain. They’re all waiting in the car.” 

Exhausted from the day and all the fight gone out of him now that he knows she isn’t about to rush away from him, he sighs and locks the door behind him. “Why the hell not?”

***

There’s no denying the air of concern in the car on all of their parts. Though Douglas has to admit that there is also a funny, fizzy bit of excitement bubbling up underneath the surface, as if they’re all children who claim they have grown much too old to believe in Santa Claus and yet find themselves giddy all the same. Verity is no help at all. She just drives, smiling serenely, rather pleased with herself. 

They pull up in front of the old Flap and Throttle and it is so well and thoroughly decked in twinkly-lights that he thinks they might be able to see it from the moon. 

They all stagger in wonder out of the car. 

“How did you fall into this stunt?” he whispers to Verity.

“You’ve met my riding instructor, Tippy? Well her boyfriend is really odd and it turns out he works with you.” 

And speak of the devil and he appears. They enter the Flap and Throttle to be greeted by a “Happy Christmas!” from a leaping Arthur who was crouched behind the bar, a surprise party of one.

There is a fully decorated Christmas tree and a table laid out with a turkey and all the traditional dishes and, unbelievably, sushi.

Douglas can hear Martin laughing softly and Carolyn scoffing in that peculiarly Carolyn kind of way when she finds her desire to be frustrated at odds with her delight. 

“Verity, I’m going to pour us each a glass of some absolutely top shelf apple juice, tuck into some excellent food and then you can tell me all about everything.”

**Arthur**

Arthur without exception loved Christmas. 

He’d had so much fun that Christmas in Molokai, that he didn’t even mind spending it in the plane. But this year he’d worried about Douglas and Martin not being able to spend the day with their families. 

When he’d proposed the idea to Wendy she’d been dubious and said that she really couldn’t manage the trip, especially not when Simon and Caitlin had rearranged their work schedules to come and see her. But then he had remembered Tippy mentioning offhand a Verity at the polo club, and he didn’t think there could be that many Veritys in Fitton or any of the surrounding towns. He hazarded a guess that her last name might be Richardson, and when he showed up at the polo club the week before Christmas he had proven right. “What a fantastic excuse to escape Christmas with Mum and Albert!” she said. She was all in. Together they had hatched their plan. 

Arthur had worried at first that he didn’t have much money to pay for a proper Christmas party and dinner and then...things had gone a bit differently.

***

After they eat their dinner they pull crackers and open presents (well, the same presents from Arthur to all of them--their very own Christmas pudding Tequila Slammer kits just like he’d loved so much from their Christmas in the sky--they each get a packet of raisins, custard crumbs and a coffee creamer! Brilliant!) Then they sit lazily, listening to carols and sipping apple juice or stronger drinks that (surprisingly!) still remain behind the bar at the Flap and Throttle. 

Carolyn swirls her scotch and takes a sip before looking at the remains of the dinner spread and looking at Arthur, suddenly alarmed saying, “Dear heart...I can’t help but remember that when we were all tricked into flying to the real Helsinki before, and not just lured to an airfield bar with some vague reference to your previous stunt, you paid for the whole affair with my credit card.” She takes a decidedly large swallow of scotch and gives him a piercing glare.

“Oh well, you see…”

“I won’t pretend that the lack of an immediate ‘no’ crossing your lips isn’t striking terror in my heart.” 

“No! No, really I didn’t use your credit card. See, yesterday when I was seeing Dad out he stopped me on the step and he gave a lot of money.”

“Whyever would he do that?”

“Well...the way he phrased it...it basically sounded like he was paying me not to have to spend another Christmas with us.”

Carolyn’s face softens. “Arthur, I won’t pretend I’m not relieved, even while I could shoot the man for his blatant cruelty.” She rolls her eyes, “even more so than usual. But aren’t you upset?”

Arthur considers this. “Well yeah, I was a bit at first. But then I thought about how much I’d rather be spending Christmas with all of you guys. Sort of like a family Christmas, but with friends instead.”

Carolyn smiles and sighs contentedly. “Yes, that’s...a rather nice way of putting it.”


End file.
